


The Christmas Snow Angel

by DebbieF



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-25
Updated: 2016-11-25
Packaged: 2018-09-02 05:07:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8652148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DebbieF/pseuds/DebbieF
Summary: This is an early pre-Christmas story. It is a stand alone and I hope you enjoy!A little bit of Christmas angst for our boy d'Artagnan.See note at bottom.++++





	

Though his fur-lined cape, gloves and chapeau were of some comfort, the cold winter chill still sat in while d'Artagnan headed back to Paris. It had been a very annoyed King Louis who had gifted all the Musketeers with the new winter finery. His Majesty had been sick and tired of being informed by Captain Treville that half his regiment had been depleted because of illness. Before d'Artagnan left on his assignment, a goodly portion of his brothers were already in the infirmary suffering from anything ranging from terrible colds, to pneumonia to even a touch of frostbite here or there. The young monarch had eventually ordered the captain to acquire all that he needed to make sure his soldiers were warmer this winter.

Accomplishing a solo mission for Captain Treville, d'Artagnan was barely a day's ride from home when the blizzard hit. Unexpected as it was he thought he was prepared against the bite of the terrible bitter winds. Alas he was wrong as snow instantly began freezing on his long eyelashes, resembling icycles. Nearly every time he brushed them off, more formed. It got to the point that d'Artagnan couldn't see two feet in front of him. Good thing Zad knew the way home or he would be surely lost.

The snow began falling heavier, and d'Artagnan found Zad slowing down as his mount was having difficulty putting one hoof in front of the other. It appeared the heavens had opened up above his head or so it seemed to him while the white, heavy flakes accumulated on the ground. Keeping his numb fingers crossed that he'd make it home without mishap, d'Artagnan whispered a quick prayer. Perhaps God and his angels would look kindly down upon a lone Musketeer's travels this Christmas.

Being Christmas Eve, d'Artagnan was anxious to get back to the Garrison where he and the inseparables had made plans to attend mass together. Afterwards they would exchange gifts at Athos' home, breaking out one of his mentor's best vintages that the older Musketeer kept hidden for such occasions. At the rate the snow was coming down, d'Artagnan's chances appeared slimmer and slimmer that he'd make it back in time as the roads were barely passable now.

Without warning Zad's front legs encountered a downed tree that neither of them had seen. Finding himself airborne was the last thing d'Artagnan remembered when his body hit the ground. The snow was relentless as it began to cover him like a snug blanket. The only thing visible was his face and that was quickly becoming covered.

Brushing snow from his face, d'Artagnan blinked his eyes wide open. Being numb all over, his body didn't feel like his own. Trying to move proved difficult at best but somehow he managed to dig himself out of his snowy grave. It was when he went to stand that a different type of pain filled him. Grabbing his left knee, d'Artagnan swore. "Merde!" Even though the ground was covered with snow it hadn't cushioned him enough to prevent injury.

Having been in like difficulties before, d'Artagnan knew what a twisted knee felt like. Still it could have been worse. Could have been his head. Which made him snicker to himself. Thinking he could hear Porthos' deep voice inside his head teasing him that d'Artagnan could do with a solid knock to his head from time to time.

Carefully d'Artagnan moved forward, stumbling through the thick snowfall, looking for Zad. Walking proved difficult and he was out of breath by the time he spotted him. God bless his horse, that it was trained for nearly every contingency, because he found his mount not far from where he was initially thrown. Patting down the animal, d'Artagnan checked Zad for injuries. Encountering nothing, he breathed a sigh of relief.

Now came the hard part as he tried to re-mount. Grabbing hold of the pommel of his saddle, d'Artagnan struggled to throw himself up and onto Zad's back. "Mon Dieu!" he breathed frosty air out. "I don't care to repeat that anytime soon."

Slowly he and Zad went to go back on the path they were originally on. Except it was no longer visible. Dejection was in every line of d'Artagnan's body. "Now what?" He was desperate to get out of this foul weather, before his body gave out on him.

Trying to guess the correct direction d'Artagnan urged Zad forward. An hour had passed, and to his weary eyes he didn't recognize a thing. "We're lost," he muttered. Knowing that if this blizzard didn't let up soon d'Artagnan may never see home again. Another silent prayer to God and he tried a different direction.

The further he went along, the less d'Artagnan was able to feel his body. Eyes slowly closing he tried to shake himself awake. Realizing that he wouldn't be able to keep that up for very long, d'Artagnan could only trust that Zad would get him home before the worst happened.

Deciding that falling off his horse wasn't an option either d'Artagnan took out a length of coiled rope from his saddlebags, tying his wrists to the pommel. This way he hoped he could stay his seat, even if he lost consciousness again.

Several hours later found d'Artagnan no closer to Paris. His body was slowly shutting down on him. Though the situation was dire indeed, if he could have seen himself he would have laughed out loud. Resembling more a snowman than a king's Musketeer, frostbite had begun to set in. D'Artagnan was so far gone that he hardly noticed. Eyelids too heavy to keep open they closed of their own accord, staying that way while his body swayed in the saddle.

_"D'Artagnan... d'Artagnan."_ His name whispered on the wind. _"Child, you must follow me."_

"Whoever you are please do be quiet," d'Artagnan murmured. "If I am to die I'd like to do it quietly." He could have sworn he heard the tinkle of light laughter. But, of course, he was no doubt hallucinating. Being well versed in the symptoms of hypothermia, d'Artagnan figured he was hearing things.

_"This is not the time to prove difficult."_ The voice reprimanded.

"Sound familiar," d'Artagnan's voice slurred. Squinting his eyes open, as much as he was able, he stared out into the blinding whiteness that surrounded him everywhere d'Artagnan looked. Seeing what appeared to be a swirling mist in front of him, he shook his head to clear it.

When the mist cleared, standing before him was what d'Artagnan could only describe as a beautiful angel... his _Christmas snow angel_. Though he couldn't get a good look at her face, d'Artagnan assumed she was beautiful. Weren't all angels supposed to be? Her wings spread wide, fluttering gently in the wind. "Am I dead then?" Again that familiar, tinkling laughter nagged at the back of his nearly frozen mind.

_"You must obey my commands, my Charles, or you soon will be."_ Letting the softness of her voice wash over the boy.

"My aren't you a bringer of good will toward man." D'Artagnan couldn't help the sharp retort that escaped his lips. "Apologies. It will be as you say, Mademoiselle." Could, or should, one refer to an angel as Mademoiselle? He'd have to ask Aramis about that later. That is if he lived.

Hearing a deep sigh coming from her, d'Artagnan felt he must be trying her patience. Then his ears perked up listening to her converse with someone that he couldn't see.

_"I don't remember him being this stubborn,"_ she huffed. _"Oh you do,"_ she laughed lightly. _"Perhaps it was just you then."_

"If you are quite done talking to whomever it is," d'Artagnan snorted. "Could we get on with it?"

_"Charles, Charles,"_ she chided gently. _"You have turned into quite a handful."_

D'Artagnan could actually hear a smile in her voice. Somehow it warmed his cold heart. He wished it would warm other parts of himself as well but he better not ask for too much.

Beginning to glow softly she bathed him in the warmth of her light. Illuminating the way ahead for d'Artagnan to lead Zad back onto the correct path, she led him through the treacherous weather.

++++

_Paris - the Garrison_

There was a flurry of activity in the Garrison, not only because it was Christmas Eve, but because search parties had been sent out for their youngest Musketeer. He was overdue and every man, down to the newest recruit, knew that d'Artagnan had been no doubt caught up in the blizzard.

++++

_Captain Treville's office_

Door blowing closed behind them from the blustery winds, as they entered, the inseparables brushed off snow from their cloaks. All turned worried eyes upon Treville.

"Any news, sir?" Athos' gut clenched. The lad should never have gone alone. If he hadn't pulled palace duty, Athos would have been traveling with the pup.

Dreading having to say this but knowing it had to be done, Treville faced the three men. "I've had to re-call all the search parties." He held up a hand seeing an argument brewing on all their faces. "The weather is worsening and I can't afford to risk anyone else being caught out in it."

Knowing the captain was right, it still didn't sit well with any of them. D'Artagnan was out there alone, in the harsh elements that wouldn't be kind to man nor beast.

Each man was lost in their own thoughts when the door to the office blew open again. Going to shut it, all Aramis could see past the opening was the thick snowfall steadily coming down. His heart fell, knowing unless their Gascon was able to seek shelter all would not be well for any of them.

Before closing the door, Aramis caught sight of a lone rider making his way past the Garrison gates. "Oh Mon Dieu!" His heart began to race. Turning back to the others, Aramis grinned. "He made it home!" he shouted. Racing outside and down the steps in record time, Aramis was the first to reach the boy.

Noting that the lad had tied his wrists to the saddle, Aramis tried to undo them but it proved difficult as the bitter winds had frozen the ropes. Feeling a large presence to his right Aramis was glad to see Porthos. It only took one look and the big man began to work on the bindings.

Keeping the young Gascon upright in the saddle, until Porthos finished, Athos took one side of the Gascon while Aramis took care of the other. When the ropes fell away so did d'Artagnan, nearly on top of Athos. Reaching out Porthos grabbed hold of their youngest before the boy crushed his brother.

"Let's get him to the infirmary!" Aramis hollered, leading the way.

++++

_Infirmary_

Four men stood off to the side, out of Doctor Devereaux's way, while the physician tended to the youngster.

"Well?" Treville gruffly asked. He knew that d'Artagnan had been exposed to dropping temperatures and worried about hypothermia.

Staring at the soldiers, Devereaux shook his head. He was truly bewildered, never having seen anything of its like before. "Gentlemen, by all rights d'Artagnan should be dead." Hearing gasps coming from the other men, Devereaux thought that perhaps that could have been put better. "Feel his skin."

Each man did and came away confused.

"How can that be?" Athos was astounded as were his brothers.

"His temperature's normal," Aramis said. "No signs of frostbite nor hypothermia."

"But why's the kid unconscious?" Porthos folded his arms, studying Aramis and the doctor.

"Actually d'Artagnan's more asleep than unconscious," Devereaux mused while not taking his gaze from the boy.

"You're all as chatty as she is," d'Artagnan murmured, turning onto his side.

" _She_ , d'Artagnan?" Aramis whispered, gliding a hand through the pup's hair. "Who would that be, mon petit frere?"

"Don't know," d'Artagnan yawned. "Couldn't see her face very well."

"Open your eyes, child," Athos gently commanded. Not feeling all was well in his world if he couldn't gaze upon d'Artagnan's expressive eyes.

Slowing blinking them open, d'Artagnan looked about the room. Then a beautiful smile broke out on his face as he stared at the foot of his bed.

Devereaux followed the lad's gaze but saw nothing. Neither did any of the others, from what he could tell.

"What is it you see, d'Artagnan?" Aramis felt something but knew not what it was. A presence that none of them could see except apparently their pup.

_"You're finally home, my Charles."_ Francoise smiled down upon her son.

"I felt it was you," d'Artagnan whispered, tears pooling in his eyes. "You kept me warm on the way back here."

_"What mother doesn't look out for her child?"_ She bestowed a most loving smile on him.

"That was papa you were speaking with before?" Seeing an impish light in her eyes, d'Artagnan chuckled.

_"Pfft! A slight difference of opinion."_ Hearing her son's laughter was all the reward Francoise needed. _"Now, petit, I must leave you."_

"Non... stay." Reaching out a hand, d'Artagnan waited for her to take it.

"Could he be hallucinating," Athos whispered to Aramis, the latter appeared enthralled by what was going on. "Aramis," he hissed. "Did you hear me?"

"He's not," Aramis responded briskly.

"Kid's reachin' out ta someone and it ain't any of us." This worried Porthos more than he cared to say.

"I'm not losing my mind." Looking at his brothers, d'Artagnan smiled tiredly. "I had my very own Christmas snow angel guiding me home."

"Who was it?" Aramis had a feeling that he knew the answer but needed it confirmed by their youngest.

"Maman." D'Artagnan breathed the single word out like a prayer. And indeed she was the answer to his prayers. God had heard him, on his way back through that white hell. Seeing her blow him a kiss in farewell, d'Artagnan returned the gesture while tears fell from his eyes.

Unable to respond to what the boy had just told them, Athos arched a single brow at Porthos. The bigger man just shrugged his shoulders. Neither of them had been big believers in the after life. Though Aramis waxed poetic about it all the time. Still something had guided their Gascon home, keeping him from becoming ill. There was no doubt that a higher power had a hand in this and for that all of them would be eternally grateful.

"Did I miss Christmas Eve mass?" Now fully awake, d'Artagnan sat up in the bed wincing at the pain radiating from his knee.

"We still have a few hours before that occurs," Treville said. "But you are to remain here."

"I'm fine," d'Artagnan declared, throwing off the covers. Seeing five pair of eyes rolling at him, he ignored them. It was when he went to stand up that d'Artagnan turned pale and collapsed back onto the bed.

"Young man," Devereaux said sternly. "Your right knee is not _fine_. Tis sprained."

Wondering why his mother didn't see fit to heal his knee since she worked hard to keep him alive in the first place, d'Artagnan instead looked for his uniform which the doctor must have removed when examining him. Spotting it thrown over a chair he attempted to stand up. "I want to attend church now and give thanks for my life and light a candle for my maman and papa."

Knowing it wasn't a wise decision, both Athos and Treville helped the boy back on with his leathers. It was painful watching the boy trying to get back into his pants, with his knee the way it was.

"Would someone please get me a pair of crutches?" d'Artagnan blinked his doe eyes innocently at Devereaux. He had discovered early on that the physician was not immune to that particular look when he turned it on the doctor.

"Very well," Devereaux was a sucker for those eyes. Bringing out the crutches he handed them to the young Gascon.

"I wasn't going to go this early," Aramis glanced at his brothers, "but I too want to give thanks and perhaps light a candle or two myself."

"We all might as well go now. A few hours here or there won't make much difference," Porthos added. "I'd like to thank 'im as well."

" _Him_ , Porthos?" Devereaux queried.

"God!" Porthos went to hug the whelp. "For only he could 'ave sent an angel ta give us back d'Artagnan."

"All right," Athos pulled the pup into his arms. He could have so easily lost d'Artagnan this day. "I'll attend early as well." He eyed the child closely. "I'm afraid to let you out of my sight."

Rolling his eyes, d'Artagnan glared at his mentor. "I do not attract trouble."

"Says the boy who had to be led back home by an _angel_." Aramis collected his chapeau, fixed his cape around his shoulders and held open the door. Seeing d'Artagnan just standing there trying to think up something to snark back at him, Aramis grinned. "Come along, mon ami." He patted the lad on the arm. "Church beckons." He heard d'Artagnan mumbling something under his breath. "Eh, what was that?"

"I'm going to light candles for all of you." Putting his gloves on, d'Artagnan buttoned his cape up. "I believe God could spare a few other angels to watch over my friends."

Upon hearing that, Treville exchanged an amused look with Devereaux. "On that note I too believe I'll join them."

After they had all gone, Devereaux was putting away some instruments he had cleaned earlier. He had witnessed many things in his long career. Saving lives was his business. Though there had been many tragedies as well. He thanked God that today was not one of those.

Removing his working clothes, Devereaux got ready for church. The infirmary was empty as he locked the door behind him. Walking into the courtyard past the Garrison gates and out into the Paris streets toward the church, a smile played about his lips. He always knew God was supposed to watch over children but apparently that included wayward Gascons as well. With those thoughts dancing in his head Devereaux found the pew d'Artagnan and the others were sitting at. Kneeling down he too gave his thanks for this miracle of life.

++++

_Note:_ Did anyone guess who the angel was before coming to the end?


End file.
